How I long to see such a motion again! Her mouth only can give it.

But I am mad with love--yet eternal will be the distance, at the rate I
go on: now fire, now ice, my soul is continually upon the hiss, as I may
say. In vain, however, is the trial to quench--what, after all, is
unquenchable.

Pr'ythee, Belford, forgive my nonsense, and my Vulcan-like metaphors--Did
I not tell thee, not that I am sick of love, but that I am mad with it?
Why brought I such an angel into such a house? into such company?--And
why do I not stop my ears to the sirens, who, knowing my aversion to
wedlock, are perpetually touching that string?

I was not willing to be answered so easily: I was sure, that what passed
between two such young ladies (friends so dear) might be seen by every
body: I had more reason than any body to wish to see the letters that
passed between her and Miss Howe; because I was sure they must be full of
admirable instruction, and one of the dear correspondents had deigned to
wish my entire reformation.

She looked at me as if she would look me through: I thought I felt eye-
beam, after eye-beam, penetrate my shivering reins.--But she was silent.
Nor needed her eyes the assistance of speech.

Nevertheless, a little recovering myself, I hoped that nothing unhappy
had befallen either Miss Howe or her mother. The letter of yesterday
sent by a particular hand: she opening it with great emotion--seeming to
have expected it sooner--were the reasons for my apprehensions.

We were then at Muswell-hill: a pretty country within the eye, to Polly,